


Something I can never have

by maybeillride



Series: Songfics [3]
Category: Free!
Genre: Cause ... look at that path of destruction, FINALLY Souman and the Rinmeister make their entrance, Hunted humans, M/M, Multi, Pet humans, Poor Kisumi, Poor Nagisa and Rei, Poor Rin, Portable snack-bar humans, THanks for the great prompt!, These vamps don't sparkle tho, Vampire AU, actual douche!nozzle Haru
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4010611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeillride/pseuds/maybeillride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru gapes up at their human as he nods to the floor.</p><p>…where, a man is strutting out to claim the floor for himself, to dance by himself for his own simple amusement. Where he cocks one hip, then the other, in time with the ultra-slow pulse of the song, playing up his moves outrageously, a ridiculous King of the Dance Floor who paradoxically means every move he makes. Where he shimmies his torso like a snake-charmer, snapping his fingers to the beat as he raises his lean, muscled arms playfully above his head, glowing an angry red in the lights. <br/>Where he’s LAUGHING, in drunken happiness.</p><p>And Haru’s lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's a new art form showing people how little we care

**Author's Note:**

> I got a great request to do either a "demon, werewolf or vampire Haru" fic. Since I'm an atheist and have already done an Alpha/Omega story, doing a vamp fic was the obvious choice lol, especially since i love them (in the Anne Rice/The Hunger/True Blood mold).
> 
> Morgan, please tell your friend thanks for the prompt!

It’s a slow night at The Cave.

The long length of the bar is vacant except for a group of girls – young, barely-legal – clumped at the end. Kisumi hears them giggling from where he leans idly by the cash register, eyes fixed to the flashing dancefloor, fiddling with a sucker in his mouth as he watches the bodies shift and move out there.

Trying to spot _Them._

“Oh my God … we gotta get this one. _Devil’s Kiss –_ oh wow, isn’t that just perfect?” one girl coos to her friends. There’s a burst of giggles and their voices drop suddenly, off a cliff, and he knows they’re talking about him. He doesn’t even need to glance down there to confirm. He’s used to it. He shifts the strawberry candy to the other side of his mouth and hungrily continues to search the dancefloor.

“Excuse me? Can we place an order?” the same girl asks brashly and Kisumi tilts off the back counter, ambles over to them. He’s oh so casual, takes his time … but as he goes he looks them over thoroughly with a practiced eye.

Six girls. Totally Gothed-up for their big night out at the club – hair sprayed out to _there_ or done up in pigtails or highlighted with hectic colors, vamptastic makeup, black black black outfits from the waist-up that he can see. And just _painfully_ excited, cute. Full of life.

And Kisumi knows instantly he has to pass on them.

It’s a fucking shame, it almost hurts – all that young, eager flesh. Seemingly perfect. But there are so many of them … too many. They’re so enthusiastic, energetic – normal, happy girls. These aren’t clubkids. These are girls who’ll have their cocktails, and maybe a few of them will overdo it, but their more-responsible friends will eventually bundle them back into their coats and haul them safely onto the Metro. Back to their dorms. Maybe replying to the texts they got from their helicopter parents.

Girls that’ll be missed.

Assessment done and girls safe without even knowing it, Kisumi sweeps a disinterested eye over them. “What’ll it be?”

“Six Devil’s Kisses, baby,” the brash spokesgirl says, aggressively attacking his eyes with her own and getting her little posse to bust into more giggles. They’re checking him out so hard he can practically feel the path their stares are drawing all over his bare arms, his buff chest in his tight tee with the sleeves cut off. But Kisumi just turns away without bothering to answer to start making the noxiously-sweet things. Customers, not targets. No need to waste time on them.

He coolly pushes the red cocktails over to them and heads to the cash register to start a tab, then leans back in his spot, returning his rudely-interrupted attention instantly to the dancefloor. The girls make these little scoffing noises and turn to look out too. He hears a different girl this time.

“Fuck, who needs him anyway? Look at _that_ guy – !” There’s a chorus of agreeing sighs and excited comments about what they could do to _him._

…And Kisumi just stares, finding and holding the edge of the counter behind him with a painfully tight grip. A new song has kicked on, a cool, ragged woman’s voice sliding over a chilly synth and a ticking beat.

Nanase’s favorite song.

_“Don't you think that it's boring how people talk … Making smart with their words again, well I'm bored … Because I'm doing this for the thrill of it, killin' it never not chasing a million things that I want…”_

Kisumi couldn’t look away from the … _man_ out there if someone tried to force him to. The – the floodof instant _relief_ that overtakes him at the sight – it almost leaves him gasping, and he’s glad as always for the shadows that hide his flush, his wide eyes, the way he’s grinning like an idiot. Like a drooling thing in a cage at the zoo.

And he couldn’t fucking care less.

Because the way Tachibana stands so very still dead-center of the floor, popping into and out of sight as the lights flash to the beat, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his skintight black jeans –

_“And I am only as young as the minute is full of it, getting pumped up on the little bright things I bought … But I know they'll never own me, yeah…”_

God, _God,_ tall, strong, Tachibana is so fucking strong, he’s like the God of “strong,” he’s a tree as he stands unmoving out there. He’s Kisumi’s height, Kisumi sneaks up to him when he can, glancing up discreetly to measure his teased pink hair against Tachibana’s jagged chestnut, he’s seen it and disbelieves every damn time. Because the Big Man … well, he towers over Kisumi, despite what his amazed eyes supposedly show him. Kisumi would even say Tachibana “looms” … but that word would be totally wrong.

‘Cause Tachibana … Tachibana is so _good_ to him. When he smiles at him in rare praise, so happy when Kisumi has found some particularly-perfect woman or man for them … well, Kisumi would gladly give him the sad meager excuse he has for a life to just – just see that look again. When he slides his big hand roughly behind Kisumi’s neck, when he’s seized by the _hunger,_ his unreal emerald eyes going black, when he fits his lips to the familiar spot on Kisumi’s neck that knows the feeling so well …

Kisumi would die to live in that moment forever. It’s not painful anymore, there’s just – this sense of loss, of something _leaving_ Kisumi’s body, and it makes him so proud to know _he’s_ going into that lovely being, sustaining him.

And the Big Man suddenly goes from so-casual to _alert_ out there on the dancefloor _,_ and Kisumi KNOWS his mate has arrived.

_“Baby be the class clown, I'll be the beauty queen in tears…”_

Slinking.

Drifting.

Just … like, _materializing_ out of the shadows like Nanase’s fucking made of them. Like he’s all-darkness, Tachibana feels _light_ while Nanase is dark, dark, _dark._

Kisumi shivers in anticipation, his body balanced somehow on this improbable edge of terror and … delight. Half of him wants to run to the storeroom, lock the door in some useless attempt at escape. Half wants to stumble out on the floor to meet him, maybe go down on his knees in front of him in front of Tachibana and the entire bar. Not giving a damn, because the feeling of burying his face in the cradle of those narrow hips, of those sharp nails playing over his scalp…

It’s bliss.

 _“It's a new art form showing people how little we care, yeah…”_ And the Little Man is mouthing the words to the song as he weaves over to his mate, the two of them are like those little magnet toys that you can put on opposite ends of a table and they’ll come spinning and pulling into each other. Tachibana just stands as still as before in his black tank top and jeans and boots, his over-long bangs dipping into his heavily-lined eyes … and now he’s wearing a little closed-mouth smile too, a tiny, familiar thing, that would kill Kisumi if it were ever directed at him.

And Nanase has finally made it over to his mate, and he’s so slight, so _small_ up against the Big Man, he’s like a woman in his gracefulness, lithe and slim even in his way-too-big gray hoodie. Tachibana smiles his tiny smile down at him and Nanase slides around to his back, slowly, trailing his hand behind him over the broad chest. Nestles in behind his mate comfortably – possessively – his slim hands curving deliberately down over his hips, following the lines of Tachibana’s iliac crest down … down…

Finally coming to rest provocatively low on the tops of his thighs, framing Tachibana’s prominent bulge – just – _so._

The music steamrolls coolly on and Nanase’s moving them both now, shifting them to the beat in such perfect agreement it’s like their bodies are making the music. Gray – black – spinning slowly, Nanase’s sleek black head nestled against Tachibana’s strong back, Tachibana sliding his big hands over his mate’s on his hips. Tilting his chestnut head back in some sort of mysterious private pleasure.

…and Kisumi’s practically gone, he’s hard, throbbing, his hands ache where he has the counter in a deathgrip. He may be moaning a little but can’t be sure. Anyone else blurs out, any other dancers on the floor as they slowly revolve, it’s all just some living picture frame for the pair.

“ _Damn,_ ladies, would you look at that little show we’re getting,” the stupid mouthy girl from before breaks into his perfect reverie and he glares over at the little _field-trip_ group, all six of them practically eye-fucking _Them_ with these big dopey smiles. “I didn’t know this was a gay-bar, but I’m not complaining!”

Her friends agree and Kisumi shoves away from the counter angrily, shoots a look down the other end of the bar –

And can’t believe his sudden, perfect luck.

The two guys sitting there, waiting patiently for his service, are together. They’re so together, it tugs some dusty and almost totally forgotten part of Kisumi to see them. The tall muscular one has an arm around the tiny cute one, and Kisumi sees great affection in that arm, and protection. The tiny blond one pokes at something on the little cocktail menu and throws his head back to laugh, and the tall dark-haired one’s eyes crinkle fondly behind his glasses. Their clothes, that’s the other thing. Nothing fashionable and perfectly put-together to _look_ “shabby-club”. Their band shirts, beat-up denim and leather jackets, careless hair tell Kisumi “hard-living” … couch-hopping at least.

So – a couple of young guys living on the bleeding edge, whose only consistency and comfort is each other.

Who _no one_ will miss.

Kisumi eases over to them, wearing his biggest and most-disarming smile. They look up at his approach, mid-laugh, faces so open … and Kisumi ruthlessly tamps down the tiny, familiar flutter of guilt.

“Well hell-O, beautiful!” Blondie says happily, loudly to be heard over the throbbing music, and he gets a shoulder-whack and a scowl from Glasses. “Can we do a couple of those Devil’s Kisses? They sound fabulous.” He winks a pretty eye at Kisumi.

Kisumi laughs lightly. “Honey, you call me whatever you like as long as your boyfriend doesn’t mind too much.” He winks back and Blondie laughs, delighted. “I gotta tell you guys though, I have to recommend something else for you instead – the Kiss is mostly sugar. Our special of the house, now, it’s sweet but packs a fantastic punch too. You’ll thank me.”

Glasses looks a little worried but Blondie reaches up and pats his chest reassuringly. “Rei, c’mon. What’s not to like, right?”

Glasses is measuring Kisumi very carefully with narrow violet eyes – and Kisumi’s afraid, this isn’t gonna work, this guy’s found him out. But then – the eyes relax and a big hand comes up to give the little one on his chest a pat. “Yes, sure. Definitely sounds like a better deal for our money,” he says to Kisumi, and the bartender wishes he could laugh in relief at how _easy_ that ended up – but he has drinks to make.

He smiles and moves through the complex steps of his most- _special_ drink, reaching smoothly for the vodka and the gin and the Chambourd and the Bailey’s one after the other like he could do it in his sleep. His hands don’t hesitate over the last, unmarked bottle, plastic, the liquid inside thick and viscous. Murky.

He finishes each drink by drizzling a heart on top from a squeeze-bottle of cherry puree, slides them across the bar. Blondie’s soft, kid-like eyes light right up at the sight, like Kisumi’s a clown who just made a couple of amazing balloon animals at a birthday party, and a shot of pity goes through Kisumi. But his grin doesn’t falter.

“These are the best drinks you’ll ever have in your life. Guaranteed,” he promises, and Glasses smiles indulgently at his boyfriend’s happiness. He digs in his pocket.

“How much do we owe you…?”

Kisumi waves a hand airily. “Oh, I’ll start you guys a tab. It’s so much easier and I’ll be here all night. Sound good?”

And they smile at each other, and lift their martini glasses up for their first experimental, trusting sips, turning to eager swallows, and Kisumi hangs onto his own grin. Nanase’s song crashes to an end and some high-speed techno thing jackhammers in to take its place. Kisumi knows _They_ won’t be dancing to that, not when they’re hungry; and he’s right.

Here they are –

Sliding in, one on either side of the innocent guys, Nanase sidling up to Glasses, Tachibana leaning deeply into Blondie. Forward, way, _way_ too forward, even for a bar pickup. But they’re hungry, and clearly aren’t wasting any time; and Kisumi knows they won’t be turned down.

And he’s right.

“Hey!” Tachibana speaks for them, as he always does, and he does this _smile_ down at them, this crazy, stupid-making thing that’s all dazzle and leaves both guys blinking wordlessly. Kisumi’s _own_ senses buzz confusedly and happily at the sight, even as he waits outside the cozy little foursome in front of him. “How are you gentlemen tonight?”

Somehow, Glasses is able to cobble together a reply. Blondie’s just gaping. “We … we’re good! Thank you! How – how are –” He breaks off abruptly as Nanase trails a single fingertip across his hand where it grips the stem of his martini glass. Kisumi watches as Glasses follows the arm up, up to meet Nanase’s giant sapphire eyes, ringed like Tachibana’s in dark liner that practically projects them from his small face.

Kisumi’s deeply proud of how they look. He did their makeup earlier tonight, after all.

It seems like Nanase and Glasses lock gazes for _hours,_ the Little Man so still and serious and the tall, gawky guy just transfixed. Kisumi finds himself staring down at the dark man too, almost falling into the beam of his _attraction,_ and he forces his eyes down at his feet. He hears Tachibana’s laugh, then – light, fluttering. Sweet.

Another win.

“Should we go someplace private...?” Tachibana asks them then, and even though the techno in the club is _loud,_ practically thundering, it’s perfectly easy to hear his reasonable library-level tone. Kisumi looks up.

Tachibana’s gently leading Blondie along the bar in the direction of the bathrooms, a friendly arm around his shoulders; Nanase’s right behind, a hand at Glasses’ back as the stunned man walks. Both are dazed, stumbling just slightly as Kisumi’s drinks take effect, though to any onlooker it would just look like your average bar-walk. Kisumi carefully avoids watching them go, wearing a neutral expression as he wipes the bar clean of any stray drops.

Like they were never there.

*

Kisumi’s back in his favorite spot, leaning in front of the cash register. _Waiting._ A nervous spiral twists and catches in his gut – _will they like who I found? Will they be pleased? Will they be happy with me? –_ and he passes a fresh sucker from one side of his mouth to the other with his restless tongue. He stares out at the bouncing and gyrating bodies out on the floor again, but it’s like watching the snow fall – there’s nothing to see out there. The only thing he cares about here – anywhere – is tucked away, down the long hall behind him. It’s hard – _so_ hard not to duck down there, find out what’s going on, if they need his help. To even avoid a casual look that way. So he keeps his blind gaze pointed out with all his control.

Exactly as he predicted, the gaggle of college girls staggers by towards the exit, the more sober ones womanhanding their totally wasted buddies with difficulty. But Mouthy Girl _still_ isn’t done for the night.

“Heyyyy, baby,” she slurs to Kisumi, breaking from the pack to slump into the bar. “Those two fine guys come here often…?”

Kisumi doesn’t move an inch from his spot, and just sneers at her. “Honey, believe me, they aren’t your _type._ ”

She sneers back, prepped for a drunken irrational fight, but her friends are pulling her back with worried looks on their smeared-Goth faces. That’s fine with him. He doesn’t have time for her. Not when _They_ are gonna need his help any minute. And the girls shuffle past him and out of The Cave.

And true to his guess, suddenly, _there They are –_

Just casually leaning on the bar in front of him, like they’ve been there the whole night, in their black and their gray, their tall and their short, their uncanny _togetherness_ making them seem like a set of salt-and-pepper shakers. Like seeing one without the other would be unheard of. _Totally_ unmussed, unstained; no one looking at them would ever dream they’d just been doing … what they’d been doing.

Kisumi’s eyes widen as he takes them in, lovely as the first time he saw them _._ He leans on the bar, feeling good enough to grin cheekily.

“So! How was it?” he asks quietly, knowing they’ll be able to hear as well as if he’s shouting.

They trade an unreadable look, almost like they’ve just woken up from a shared nap. Kisumi feels his heart high in his throat. Then both pairs of uncanny eyes are on him fully and oh, _oh._

Tachibana says softly, “They were like experiencing an old dream, from a long, long time ago.”

Nanase interrupts him, laying a hand on his bare forearm and getting him to stop instantly. Kisumi holds his breath.

“They were special,” the tiny dark man tells Kisumi, beaming his giant unreadable blues up, and Kisumi is completely unable to look away. “We knew them once. They meant something to us.”

Then, _quick,_ so fast Kisumi has no memory of it being anywhere else, the dark man’s hand has flickered from Tachibana’s bare forearm to Kisumi’s.

Squeezes.

And the space in Kisumi’s arm is too tight, too small for everything inside, and he knows well that Nanase is holding back, that this is just a tiny fraction of what he _could_ do. Just a little reminder.

Kisumi somehow is able to bite back his hiss of pain even through the rush of his fear and despair.

“Never do that again,” the dark man tells him calmly, head tilted up to him like he’s looking at something mildly interesting. Tachibana gazes down at his mate with _something …_ sadness? But Kisumi can’t turn away from the grip on his arm and the hold on his eyes. “When we need to feed we don’t want to _feel._ Try to remember that for next time, _human.”_

Nanase releases him then, sort of hard like he’s sick of touching him, and just as instantly as they were _there_ the pair is gone. Just … empty space, Kisumi blinking rapidly and rubbing his arm and _willing_ them to come back, to not be gone. To not leave him. To let Kisumi somehow defend his case, try again, find someone else and make them happy. Make _Nanase_ happy.

But they’re gone, like they were never there. Never in the club. Never even in Kisumi’s life.

Though the two ruined … _things_ patiently waiting in the storeroom for Kisumi’s cleanup would beg to differ.


	2. Don't always think before I do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for the one-and-only Daxii, who wouldn't let this fic die. A happy happy birthday, Dear <3 :D

“…aaarrrrghhhh!” Rin lets the half-moan, half-groan ooze out of his chest, sitting heavily back from his hunch over the table. He isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting like that. The last break he and Sousuke took together was when they made the ramen run at seven, just down to the corner and back. That was… hours ago. He scrubs his eyes until sick maroon clouds burst behind his lids.

Sousuke, irritatingly, hasn’t moved at all since then, and if Rin’s hurting Sousuke must practically be in agony by now. Rin leans back on his elbows, absently tilting his head side to side and gently pulling at the rock-hard tendons in his neck, and watches his best friend.

He’s in his “zone” – the dangerous focus he drops into when… doing anything, really, one of his simultaneously endearing and infuriating personality tendencies. Competitiveness, perfectionism and sort of a bull-headed stubbornness: Rin knows him very well, partly because that describes him too (although Sousuke makes Rin look like an amateur). He could probably fire up his electric razor right now and buzz his initials into the back of Sousuke’s head, and he’d maybe try to swat the fly away. Maybe. 

He’s stuck in the same hell Rin is, they’re both stuffing all the ridiculously complicated Latin for every bone and muscle in the goddamn human body into their poor abused brains. The mid-term is tomorrow, end of the day. And Rin is DONE. No more. Just before surrendering, he went back to the start of their flashcard pile for another round, and was horrified to realize for every card he knew on the top of the pile, he’d apparently wiped out one on the bottom. Just burned it right out of existence in his memory.

Sousuke meanwhile looks like he could go all night. And not in a good way. Rin frowns and shoots forward, snatching the narrow black glasses off his face. The way Sousuke’s face goes from galaxies-away to right-here-and-now-and-what-the-FUCK, Rin is worth it. He hangs his head and laughs. Sousuke makes a grab for his purloined property but Rin has already snuck them on, scooting back so he’s out of range.

“Do I look like you?” he asks, grinning and framing his face in both hands like a model in one of Gou’s old teen fashion magazines.

Sousuke glares at him, leaning on his elbows. “Uh, sure. If I was in a dick-suit,” he grumbles, then Rin knows he’s the winner when he cracks his long face in a giant yawn that just goes on and on. 

“See?? You’re exhausted, Sou. You gotta take a break.” He leans in, ready to spring his plan. “We gotta take a break. You know I read somewhere that the longest the brain can focus is four hours? Max. After that you can keep trying to do your thing but it all goes to hell.”

Sousuke’s gingerly working his shoulder, which while it’s never something Rin is happy to see, is also further proof Rin’s got this in the bag.

“Where’d you read that? Cosmo?”

“How d’you know about Cosmo, Sousuke?” Rin teases, fluttering his eyes.

“It’s called ‘sisters,’ you jackass. And would you please take those off…” he sighs, reaching out almost gently and lifting them off Rin’s face. Rin smiles beatifically. 

“You know what we’re gonna do? We’re gonna change, then go downtown to that Goth club Ai was talking about. Switch things up and recharge our brains, then pick this up later.” …or tomorrow...but when you’re marketing you gotta give the customer what they’re looking for, he thinks.

The glasses haven’t made it back onto Sousuke’s face, which is another promising sign. He’s just stuck holding them in the air like Rin’s suggestion is either so ludicrous he’s reassessing his entire friendship with Rin, or he’s actually thinking about it. Knowing Sousuke, Rin bets it’s a mix of the two.

He finally puts them on top of his notes and Rin silently rejoices. “Hey, wait. Is this that place… The Basement? Something like that?”

“The Cave,” Rin says.

Sousuke rolls his eyes. “The Cave. Oh my fucking God. You know, Ai may be a sweet kid, but he’s a fucking weirdo. I’m serious.”

“You’re never anything else,” Rin says breezily. “C’mon, bitch-face. Get up. Let’s look fabulous.”

*

They’re together again.

Haru doesn’t know how it could have happened. It has been just him and Makoto for so, so long, Makoto would know the exact date but Haru just feels the weight of almost 250 years – that Haru thought he’d lost their voices, their laughs, finally their faces to the soft erosion of time. But here they all are, back in the bright courtyard of school, playing some game of Hide and Seek. And here are their voices, their laughs, their faces and names again, back in his mind where they belong.

And Haru is happy.

He knows they can’t be far; they have a rule they can’t go in the building when they play, and there really aren’t many choices of where to hide out here – just a scattering of sakura trees, autumn-bare; three low wooden benches around the perimeter; the ornamental gate at the school’s entrance. But as he sweeps his eyes around the space, ready to start his search, he sees no sign of them.

He still makes a little show of peeking under each of the benches, even though he can see right away that no one is there. He knows Nagisa loves his admittedly terrible acting, never failing to giggle from wherever he’s hidden like a boy of five instead of ten. But the only sound as he straightens up is the wind clattering the low branches of the trees together, like skeletal fingers.

…it’s an unpleasant thought.

Haru crosses to the gate, circling around both posts and sure someone will pop out on the far sides, and his heartbeat crests and falls when those are empty too… but stays too-high for a simple game of Hide and Seek, thudding in his wrists and throat. His heartbeat, absent for so many years it’s the rapping of a stranger’s fist on his front door. 

Turning back, he realizes why he saved the obvious for last, the only real place they could be.

He doesn’t WANT to find his friends. He remembers, now, why he put them both out of his mind, why his mind recoiled in horror from the thought of them and buried them hard and deep where he could forget.

Where he’s remembering, now – and drifting almost lazily to the first tree…

*

“...ah…!” Haru chokes, the courtyard and the restless wind and the tree blinking away into the total darkness of their room. 

He’s sprawled on his back in their four-poster bed, each limb seeking off in a different direction like his body was trying to run and hide while his mind was captive under the power of that dream. Even in his current state, taking up as much space on the mattress as his body can, Makoto has found a way to… surround him, cradle him as he continues to sleep. 

One powerful arm snakes around the small of his back. The other curves up, big hand splayed across Haru’s chest, no breath or heartbeat to dislodge it. And his face tickles lightly, Makoto’s perpetually unkempt hair fanning down where his face is tucked firmly into Haru’s cheek, his neck. So Haru didn’t wake him with his struggles. That’s something, at least.

He lets himself float in the darkness for some unknown time, allowing the strands of the nightmare to drift away, willing that unwelcome image of the tree from his mind. There’s no point allowing himself to think about it, anyway. That was then, in another lifetime, and this is his now.

Soon, it will be time to wake Makoto with a kiss, to accept his sleepy kiss in return, a comfortable, almost absentminded greeting. It will be time to leave their little den for the night. To use the powers that have only sharpened with hundreds of years of use like keen and cruel blades. The pulse, the vibration of all that life in the club above them beats and flickers against the walls of their bedroom, a chaos of hundreds of human hearts that sometimes fall together into a single beat. But for these few in-between moments after waking, Haru just exists, a snake in a state of temporary hibernation, the one time in each day he’s ever truly at peace.

The ominous descending bassline of their wakeup song slinks down from the club, gently but insistently thumping the ceiling. Same song, same time, every night. A private signal from their human that it’s time to feed. The man insists, and the club’s DJs think it’s some weird affectation, or maybe some quirky joke the bartender shares with no one. But they don’t ask him why.

Haru doesn’t need help from a human to sense when the sun has finally left for the day, when the last lingering warmth of life has winked out and the air has a palpable chill, the very edges of the world smudged and messy. But it makes the man feel needed, and that’s as powerful a pull for him to serve them as any glamour they might have put on him, long ago when they first took him. 

Makoto’s hand tightens at his back. Haru leans over and makes a quick study of his waking face, the way he’s always troubled with a frown that gathers between his eyebrows, like sleep has brought him someplace where he becomes the old Makoto, just for a little while. Then Haru lays a light kiss on his forehead and, as always, the frown is gone when he pulls back and Makoto is blinking sleepily up at him, his face calm and unperturbed. 

“…hi,” Makoto murmurs into their quiet morning moment. 

“Hi,” Haru whispers back. 

Makoto’s hand rubs light circles into his lower back. Are you alright…? Haru hears in the gesture, Makoto’s eyes bright in the darkness yet hesitant, as always.

This time when he leans in Haru kisses Makoto’s lips, cool and soft and open, and even though the uncertainty that has hovered around them since the events of last night still hangs in the air like an off-key song, his familiar face is placated when Haru breaks the kiss to sit on their bed.

The human’s footsteps thunder down the stairs and then he’s there, inexplicably, easing the door open like he’s trying not to wake them and peering into the room. His heart is leaping with anxiety and Makoto is standing between him and Haru at the first sound of it. But Haru puts a hand out to calm his mate. The human is anxious, and violating all their usual wake-up protocols… but it’s an excited heartbeat, not a fearful one. Makoto glances back at him in full understanding.

“…Bela Legosi’s dead… the bats have left the bell tow-er… The victims have been bled…” the melodramatic voice of their wakeup song intones, as the man boldly eases into the room and closes the door behind him. But even given this new transgression, they’ve trained him well over the years; he makes no move to come forward or even turn on a light, even though he’s unable to see a thing in the coal-black room.

Haru would probably toy with him a bit, were it up to him, but that’s not Makoto’s style. He glides to their human, unaware the vampire is standing silently behind him before Makoto pushes his head to the side, holding his torso firmly in place with his other hand.

“Ah!” the man gasps, throwing his hands out in surprise, and Haru can smell his fear, but also his want, battling and pushing against one another as Makoto lightly taps his teeth to the man’s throat in the teasing way he likes. Then the man’s heart falls back to its excited thrum, and his Adam’s apple rises and falls, and Haru finds himself slinking forward to join them.

“…Tachibana. Nanase,” he gets out, head still bent to the side and still in Makoto’s grip, as he should be. Haru waits impassively and feels Makoto’s eyes flick over to his in amusement. 

“I’ve – I’ve found the best gift for you both. They’re right upstairs now, ready for you. They have no clue what’s in store for them, and God, GOD, wait ‘til you get a look at these guys…!” The human is babbling now in his overstimulation but Haru forgives him. It’s in the way he’s practically holding himself back from jumping in glee, so thrilled to make up for his error last night. 

Makoto looks up in surprise as Haru leans in, drawing a gentle fingertip down their human’s long neck and leaving a light kiss there, right in the hollow.

“…Nanase??” the man blurts.

Haru flicks his gaze up. “Makoto. Let him go. Don’t spoil your appetite.” He feels the slightest ghost of a smile on his face. 

Makoto does, of course. And as always, he’s willing to praise where Haru is not, to reward a good-job-done. The man is dazed as Makoto turns him, holds his jaw firmly, searches his mouth in a hot and totally-possessive kiss. Haru watches peacefully and is pleased when the man instantly drops to his knees after they part, fumbling at Makoto’s sweatpants. 

“Uh-uh, no need. No time,” Makoto says roughly. “Dress us, please.”

*

He and Makoto are in their booth, drinks-for-show on the table before them, club-wear-for-show on their bodies, feeling the pulse and push of the prey around them in the flickering dimness. None of the humans around them are noteworthy, none of them are worth more than a quick mouthful, and as the minutes bleed by his fragile goodwill towards their human drains away.

…until, a new song slides on, with an unhurried beat and a yearning falsetto melting into the air. Until, a voice, an excitable alive obnoxious LOUD voice yells out –

“Sousuke! I LOVE this song! Ahhh!!”

From the booth directly behind them, followed by some rumbling reply Haru only notes in passing.

Until their human saunters over to their booth, with the pride of someone showing off their brand-new sports car, supreme self-satisfaction all over him. Haru gapes up at the man as he nods to the floor.

…where, a man is strutting out to claim the floor for himself, to dance by himself for his own simple amusement. Where he cocks one hip, then the other, in time with the ultra-slow pulse of the song, playing up his moves outrageously, a ridiculous King of the Dance Floor who paradoxically means every move he makes. Where he shimmies his torso like a snake-charmer, snapping his fingers to the beat as he raises his lean, muscled arms playfully above his head, glowing an angry red in the lights. 

Where he’s LAUGHING, in drunken happiness, pausing only to mouth along –

“’Cause I’m a man, woman – I’ll never be as strong as you…”

And Haru’s lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to Rin’s song ("'Cause I'm a Man" by Tame Impala) and TELL me he wouldn’t make a hot-clubkid-mess of himself to that ~ ;D

**Author's Note:**

> So I heard the Lorde tune "Tennis Court" AFTER having this idea and it was so clearly Haru's Song, it had to go in. THanks, Lorde ;) (and props to Nine Inch Nails for the title, which is ALSO a very apropos song for the goings-on here).
> 
> This was fun - it's always a hoot to make Haru a bitch (at least to start here) though Mako can never really lose his "Makoness" even as a bloodthirsty killer lol. It was also fun to make Kisumi so damn pathetic, though when tempted to feel bad for him i just remind myself he's complicit in their murders too ;). Stay tuned for an arrival that's gonna "heat some cold faces up" lol...
> 
> Thanks so much to the lovely Daxii and TheGirlOnFandoms for your brainstorming and blood-volume-calculations, and to you for reading!


End file.
